The Flames In Her Blood
by CucumberSalad
Summary: "Come in my cave and I'll burn your heart away." The caramel-coloured waitress catches his eye and before he knows it he is in her bed. Set before the first episode of the first season.
1. 1: The Bar

**Author's Note:** Bonnie is twenty-years-old, therefore was never in the same grade as Elena, Caroline, Matt, etc... The rest of her back story will remain a mystery...for now B). Damon's back story is the same as in Vampire Diaries...the only difference is that he never "met Elena first" because that was just stupid and out of character for him to be like "you want a love that consumes you! But you won't remember me...so...peace!" and then he leaves...really? No. He'd be like O.O KATHERINE?! COME TO ME!

This is set in 2009 so I'm really excited! Reminiscing with some nice 2009 music B) I'll probably recommend a lot of 2009 songs to you readers ehehe

Songs: So Fine - Sean Paul (1st half), Power - Katerina Graham (2nd half)

* * *

Damon's long, smooth fingers press against dark wood, tapping impatiently. He eyes the bartender who is busy sending tin cups into the air and bouncing them off his elbows when they come back down. After his seven second show he sets the two cups on the counter, reaching under and then pulling a clear, vodka bottle out. He throws the bottle into the air. It spins. He catches it with his other hand.

Damon isn't impressed.

He looks at the other bartender, this one is also a man but much more attractive, even Damon could admit; though, obviously this _server_ isn't better looking than him. But he likes this guy. This one seems to actually be making drinks instead of spinning cups. _Probably because he isn't ugly_, Damon thinks. He can relate to this bartender.

You don't need tricks to impress when people orgasm just by looking at you.

A waitress takes a step in the space between Damon and the man beside him. "Need a Kamikaze, Rich" she says, making eye contact with the bartender. He nods and turns around to collect the ingredients. She looks at the other bartender, eyes narrowing. "Hey, Carl, less flipping, more pouring, yeah?"

He looks over at her, smiling sheepishly. "You got it, Bon."

"Kamikaze...I've never had one of those." Damon smiles at the caramel-coloured waitress. "What's in it?"

The waitress tries to hide her annoyance as she looks at this man. "I'm not a bartender," she says, voice not as kind as the fake smile on her face.

Damon's eyes shine in the light as he glances at the woman's full, red lips then back up at her. "You should be...I'm sure you would attract a lot of customers."

She forces herself not to roll her eyes. Even attractive men have become repulsive to her after working nine months in this place. "Lime juice, triple sec and vodka."

"What?"

"The ingredients in the Kamikaze. I highly recommend it," she says, winking. She is almost like a prostitute the way she has to flirt in this place and she hates it. But money equals food and food equals a happy witch. "I'll be back to see how you liked it."

"Here, Bon."

A cocktail glass with a blue-coloured liquid in it and a sliced lime stabbed through the top is placed in her caramel-coloured hand.

Then she is gone.

And Damon feels almost...

Brushed off?

"What can I get for you?" Rich asks, reaching for empty cups left on the counter.

Damon smiles. "Kamikaze."

The blond man nods.

Damon doesn't watch him as he mixes together the three ingredients. Instead, he turns to watch the waitress as she delivers a single glass to a table filled with colourful drinks. The woman she hands it to smiles and thanks her before turning to her friends and laughing at something one of them said.

The waitress hurries through a pair of doors and comes back a couple of seconds later, two plates full of greasy looking burgers balanced in her hands.

"Wouldn't recommend it, my man," Rich says as he hands the cocktail to Damon.

Blue eyes meet brown ones.

"She came out of her mom's cunt saying 'no'," he explains, obviously exaggerating to emphasize his point. "Trust me." He pulls a clean, white rag off of his left shoulder and slides it over the wet counter.

They both glance at the smiling waitress.

Damon looks back at the bartender. "You're only encouraging me, man."

Rich smiles, eyes taking a little while longer to focus on Damon. "I know." He tosses the rag onto his shoulder. "Maybe I'm just hoping that someone will fuck the uptight virgin out of her." He taps the dark wood twice before continuing to speak. "Good luck, my man," he says before heading towards a man and his empty glass.

"Don't need it," Damon mumbles. He brings the glass to his lips and swallows all of it in two sips. His lips purse as his head tilts. He nods while looking at the now empty glass. "Not bad."

He must admit, however, that he is more of a whiskey kind of man; not to forget vodka and rum. He prefers straight alcohol instead of the mixed, fruity, colourful type. Chicks can keep their flamboyant drinks, he prefers simplicity.

A hand rests on his shoulder. He turns to look at the tall, brunette woman behind him, the one who ordered the Kamikaze.

"I'm Samantha." She smiles.

"Damon," he responds, voice lacking flavour. He looks her up and down, pleased with her curvy figure. Then he glances at the waitress and back to her. _Never mind_, he thinks, realizing that she doesn't have enough of a figure to please him. No, he'll wait for his prize.

"Look..." she says, obviously new to the pick-up-strangers thing. "My friends over there were convinced that you were looking at me. And..."

He nods. "I was." He puts on his most charming smile. _Might as well pass the time._ He looks at the table she came from, seeing her friends' watchful eyes. "You have an extra spot for me over there?"

She seems almost surprised when she responds. "Yes."

Perhaps she realizes that she is not in the same category as him: drop-dead sexy.

She is correct.

Yet, he follows her to the middle-aged woman table; purely to pass the time, he knows, just until his waitress gets off shift.

"Why hello there," one woman says, eyeing him as if he is her next meal.

Damon forces himself not to gag at the sight of her plaque-covered teeth. "Damon, pleasure to meet you," he says, reaching for her hand and pressing her light skin against his lips. She blushes when he lets go and focuses on the other forty-something women.

He vaguely hears her introduce herself as Kathy.

Maybe.

He doesn't care. She is too ugly for him to pay attention to her.

Samantha motions for him to sit in the seat beside her.

He is at the table for about ten minutes before he begins to tire of them. The cougars, however, are too mesmerized by the beauty in front of them to even consider boredom. They stare at him, eating up his every word. Then Jack Sparrow - an unspoken nickname he has given to 'Kathy' - looks at the waitress who walks past their table.

"Excuse me," she says, trying to get the woman's attention.

The waitress looks back. "Yes? What can I help you with?"

Damon looks up at the caramel-coloured beauty, licking his lips in anticipation for what he plans on doing to her later.

"Do you have a special? Something...on the house?"

The waitress shakes her head. "No, sorry. Is there anything else I could do for you?"

Jack Sparrow leans forward. "I come here every week, dear. Are you sure there is nothing you can get for me?"

"I'm sorry. I really-"

"Look, as I said...I come here every week. It's not cheap. Are you trying to say that you don't give any special benefits to returning customers?" She shakes her head, anger starting to surface in her eyes. "What kind of business are you running here?"

The muscles in Damon's jaw twitches.

"Miss, I-"

Damon looks at Jack Sparrow. "If money is an issue I can take care of you." She tries to open her mouth to speak but he interrupts her. "This lovely lady has been working hard to please you, even getting you drinks when you could just get them yourself." He motions to the place just two meters away. "Give her a break...for me." He says the last part with a heart-melting smirk, pupils shrinking.

Jack Sparrow is wide eyed for a moment, recovering from compulsion as she swallows and nods. She looks at the waitress. "Never mind, I don't need anything."

Damon makes eye contact with the waitress. She smiles, thankful before she turns to carry out orders given to her by other customers. Damon leans back in his chair, feeling suddenly accomplished.

One genuine smile.

Check.

Next on his list?

Some jealousy.

He grabs Samantha's hand and raises her to her feet. "We'll be back," he promises the women.

The tall brunette glances back nervously at them as she walks with Damon. As soon as their feet touch the colourful, glowing dance floor the vampire's hands find her hips, filling her with all kinds of butterflies.

_I'll be your sunshine_

_You could be mine_

He spins her around and pulls her ass to his pelvis, swaying his hips as he does so. Her back arches as she reaches for the back of his neck. She pulls herself closer to him as they grind.

_You'll be my wind chime_

_I've got the rhyme_

One arm wraps around her waist, just below her breasts.

_We'll have a good time_

_Make up your mind_

She moans as his pelvis presses closer to her.

_Roll with me girl_

_You're so fine_

Both hands return to her hips as she suddenly takes control and begins grinding against him. _Cougars, _he thinks, _always come out to play when something young and hot rubs against them._

He glances out at the dining area.

His waitress is nowhere in sight.

Growling, he guides Samantha away from him, spinning her so that she is facing him. Their equal height allows for him to look straight into her eyes as his hands squeeze her hips. She is attractive, sure, but any jealousy from 'Bon' would be unfounded. He knows, however, that women are far from rational, therefore the waitress is bound to feel a hint of _something_ when she sees them dancing like this.

Maybe envy?

"You will not scream," he says. She nods slowly.

He pulls her closer to him, bringing his lips to her neck. She gasps as he bites down. He covers the act with a single hand, sucking quickly so that no blood can escape him.

She begins to moan.

No one could say that he doesn't please his victims.

He licks his lips clean before scratching a spot on his collarbone, causing blood to form. "Drink." He grabs the back of her head and forces her lips to his skin. She licks at the crimson. He watches as the wound on her neck heals. Once the area is completely smooth he resumes his dance with her, this time feeling a slight more attraction to her.

Her blood tastes nice.

Again, he looks at the dinning area. He catches his waitress glancing at them. He smiles, looking at her as he spins Samantha back around so that her ass is once again pressing against his pelvis. He grinds against her. The waitress looks away.

Jealousy? Maybe not.

But envy is a yes.

He is done.

He grabs Samantha's hand and takes her off the dance floor, her mind still spinning, butterflies now mating in her stomach. She feels wetness against her thighs when she takes her seat next to the man who has done this to her.

The rest of the cougars smile at them, having watched their every movement up there. They glance at her neck, surprised not to see a hicky; though, the spot_ is_ noticeably red-tinted. They look at Samantha, unspoken words passing between them and her.

The bar is ten minutes from closing when 'Bon' comes back to check on them. "We'll be closing soon. Is there anything I can get you before you leave? Some food?"

They shake their heads. "No, thanks."

"We'll just take the bill," Jack Sparrow says.

She nods and leaves, returning less than a minute later with a receipt. She lays it down on the table in front of Jack Sparrow, who's eyes widen in surprise. Damon wastes no time in sliding the bill over to himself. He takes a dark wallet from his pocket and pulls five hundred-dollar bills from it. He takes the receipt and places both in her hand. "That's for the Kamikaze, too."

She looks at Damon, eyes widening in remembrance. "Sorry, I forgot...how did you like it?"

He raises a glass filled with Jack Daniels. "I'm a man of simple tastes," he explains.

She nods, a curly strand falling into her vision. Gently, she brushes it away, smiling. "Well, I hope to see you here again tomorrow."

"Here?" he questions, frowning. Suddenly, he stands, making her take a step back so their proximity isn't awkward. "Why not in your bed?"

Samantha looks quickly at the man, hand fiddling with her necklace as she watches them. Her friends watch as well, though their faces are different, _pissed off_.

The waitress laughs. "That's the alcohol talking."

"I don't know about that." He takes her wrist in his hand, caressing her skin with his thumb. "I wanted to lay you down on that counter over there and fuck you senseless as soon as I saw you."

Her laugh becomes non-existent as she studies this man before her, visions of blood and screaming victims flashing in her eyes. She pulls her hand from his grasp like someone would once they realize the person that is touching them is a leper. Damon frowns at the sudden action, eyes narrowing in confusion. "I'm sorry, I have to go clean tables," she says before speed walking away.

"What the hell was that?" Jack Sparrow says.

"He's a man, what do you expect," another, somehow uglier, woman says. He could care less what the pointy-nosed bitch thought.

Damon rolls his eyes before looking at the table of cougars. "You should get some White Strips, Captain Jack Sparrow," he says, looking at the annoyance across from him, face scrunching like he has eaten something sour. "Maybe just a tooth-brush."

"_Excuse_ me?"

"Shut the fuck up. I take shits that look better than your face, Sparrow."

She frowns. "You are a sorry excuse for a man, you _pig_."

He scoffs. "You'd be lucky if I even let you near my dick. As well as contracting herpes," he says, looking her up and down. "I'd get gingivitis, you sick, ugly bitch."

"You-"

His hands press against the table as he stares directly into her eyes. Slowly, he says, "Shut the fuck up."

She is quiet.

He looks at each woman, compelling them to forget that they ever met him. With Jack Sparrow he goes one step further and compels her to go to a dentist and get her mouth fixed. She is lucky he doesn't compel her to commit suicide.

Letting her walk this earth is a sin, itself.

She should be grateful.

Ten minutes later he is waiting for the waitress outside, hoping that she hasn't snuck out from some back entrance.

After ten more minutes she appears, Rich by her side.

"I was wondering how long it'd take you."

They both eye Damon, Rich moving protectively in front of her.

Damon almost rolls his eyes. "Go home," he commands, pupils becoming smaller.

The bartender blinks a couple of times before obeying and leaving. Bonnie looks at Rich's retreating figure with wide eyes.

"Want to take me up on my offer?"

Brown eyes meet blue.

The waitress swallows. "No, thanks. I have to go home." She tries to walk past him but he blocks her.

"You're afraid of me," he says, convinced. "Why?"

She shakes her head. "I'm not."

"Liar, liar, pants on fire, _Bon_. Now, you can come with me willingly or I can just make you...It's your choice, really."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," she says through a clenched jaw, her fingers beginning to twitch.

He reaches for her wrist again.

She avoids his touch.

"Don't make this difficult. I wouldn't want to bruise that beautiful skin of yours."

Her eyes narrow as she looks up at him. Suddenly, he falls to his knees. A pained growl leaves his lips as his hands press against his head.

Dark veins begin to run up from her neck and onto her face. She watches him, smiling at his pleas.

"_Stop_," he demands.

The pain increases.

He screams.

Bonnie inhales loudly, the fear of this thing consuming her again making the veins disappear. She runs past the vampire.

He remains on the ground, paralyzed by the pain that has not yet gone away.

Five seconds.

It is gone.

He climbs to his feet and turns around, eyes wild. Her back disappears as she turns a corner.

_Fucking witch_. _She's a fucking witch._

He pauses, deciding whether he will follow her or not.

His anger doesn't allow for any other option but to hunt her down and drain her.

_Such a waste_, he thinks before speeding after her.

* * *

"Let _go_ of me."

"What happened to that magic, huh, witch?" Damon smirks against her neck as he holds her body against his.

Bonnie's elbows jab into his stomach as she tries to get away, legs flailing. "I'll do it again!" she threatens. "I'll-"

"I don't see you doing anything, _witch_. Now, if you don't stop struggling, I will snap your neck, understood?" He caresses her hair as she calms down.

She breathes in deeply as he smiles, victorious.

"Good little witch."

Slowly, he releases her.

She remains still.

He walks in front of her, bringing his hands to her hips. His skin almost tingles when he touches her as if something deep is being ignited in him. He is very familiar with this feeling.

_Lust_.

He lifts her arm and rubs the sleeves of her black jacket against her lips. Once the red is a faded pink he kisses her, taking her bottom lip into his mouth and nibbling on it. He kisses her for only a few seconds before he pulls back, angry. "I'm not into necrophilia," he says. "Don't be a fucking corpse."

She swallows.

He caresses her cheek. "Look, Bon, I'm going to give you this chance again. Know that I don't do this often." He leans into her, allowing his breath to warm her face in the night air. She closes her eyes as he continues. "Kiss me back and I won't hurt you."

Slowly, gently, he pulls her closer. A sharp, audible noise comes from her mouth when his thumb presses against a spot just above her left hip. He smiles as she arches forward, surprised by the feeling being sent through her. He presses the spot just a little harder as his smooth lips press against her cracked, stained ones. She gasps into the kiss.

This feeling is _wrong_.

He threatened to _kill_ her.

She says no to anyone anytime they try _anything_. Why should he be so special? Why does he deserve her kisses?

The answer comes to her easily: he doesn't accept no for an answer; he commands her to do as he says; she feels almost powerless in his grasp.

And she can't help but to feel a little _thrilled_ by all of this.

_One night,_ she thinks. _One night then I'll sneak out in the morning and I'll leave this city. I'll find a place where I won't need to resort to Expression. I'll-_

His tongue enters her mouth.

She clutches at the sides of his leather jacket, forcing him to be even closer, so much so that his pelvis is pressed against her stomach. His eyes open in surprise. To be quite honest, he didn't expect her to give into his threats so _willingly_. He stares at her for a moment before closing his eyes and squeezing her ass.

* * *

Damon slams Bonnie against the wall beside the entrance to her suite. Her back throbs but the pain is soon forgotten when he begins to reach into her jacket, his thumb still pressing against her soft spot. He pulls a shiny, silver key from one of the pockets.

He shoves the key into the lock and opens the door. It almost bursts from its hinges as he grabs her by the front of her dark jacket and drags her inside, almost slamming the door behind them. He throws her onto the bed, removing his jacket and shirt with a speed Bonnie has never seen before. Before she can even think about questioning him he appears in front of her and unzips her jacket. He throws it across the room and proceeds to, literally, rip the black tank top from her body. He tosses the pieces to the floor as he changes his focus to her shoes, items that he simply slides off. Now, the pants. Even though they are a tight fit - something he doesn't mind at all - he removes them with ease.

Soon, her thong is on the floor and he is separating her legs. He looks up at her, curious as to whether the bartender was right about her being a virgin. She definitely does not kiss like she is one.

Her expression, fear mixed with longing says it all.

He smirks, moving his face to her trimmed area. His tongue glides across the most sensitive area of all women. Slowly, the motions quicken and he is writing the whole alphabet into her clitoris within seconds.

Slowly, without disturbing the speed of his tongue, he slides one finger into her wetness. Her walls feel tight against his finger. It doesn't take long for him to double it, making the tightness he feels that much greater.

The bed sheets fold beneath Bonnie's grasp.

Her moans are almost enough for him to go right here, right now.

Most girls scream with him.

If they only knew that it is the simplicity of heavy breathing that gets him off.

Bonnie's back arches as she reaches her first climax of the night. It is nothing compared to what she will feel when he is inside of her.

Her chest rises and falls at a rapid pace as Damon stands. At this point he would usually be making her gag on the length of his dick.

But he just can't_ wait_.

He has never been patient, besides she is inexperienced. It would just be disappointing. She may be surprisingly good at kissing but, then again, kissing is not sucking a dick.

He slides his feet from his shoes and removes his pants completely - he doesn't enjoy the hassle of fucking someone when his ankles are in jean cuffs, so to say. His boxers are next and soon, he is just as naked as Bonnie.

Almost.

He curls one finger around the piece of fabric connecting her C cups together and pulls her up. Slowly, he reaches around to the back of the laced, black bra while going to his knees and bringing his mouth to her neck. Again, she moans.

_Fuck_.

He wastes no more time with foreplay. He drops the bra to the ground and rises to his feet, shoving her back down to the bed. He grabs her hips and pulls her towards him, so much so that her ass hangs off the bed.

She looks at him, the fear and longing still in her eyes.

_Definitely a virgin_.

No matter. He'll just eat her out again once he is done.

There is no point in wasting good blood, especially if she is a witch. There is _nothing_ better than a witch's blood. His mouth salivates at the thought. And, for a moment, he wonders if he is more vampire than man, considering this is what he is thinking about instead of already entering her.

He wastes no more time.

Slowly, he pushes in, pausing when the tip is fully in to look at Bonnie's expression. He continues, still slow, until he is halfway in. Her eyes are closed.

He doesn't like that.

_Smack!_

Her right ass cheek reddens in just a second. Her eyes widen.

"Don't close your eyes, _witch_," he orders.

She bites her lip as he pulls out and pushes in again, still only halfway in. It feels weird at first, not completely painful, that is, until he slides all eight inches into her. She forces her mouth shut, not allowing the scream to escape her. She tries to close her eyes but is immediately smacked again.

"That's not a punishment," she whispers, darkly. "Ever consider that I like it?"

His eyes shine in the little moonlight that seeps into the room. Quickly, he pulls out and shoves back in, hard and forceful.

A muffled gasp slaps the inside of her mouth, trying its hardest to escape.

Her determination only arouses him more. He grabs her neck and lifts her into the air, free hand pushing her pelvis to his. Yet, her legs continue to dangle. He growls, looking up at her like she is stupid. Then he sees her smirk, amused by her own refusal.

He can't help the dark smile that comes to his lips. "_Masochist_," he whispers through a light chuckle.

Bonnie returns the smile just before he slams her back against a wall for the second time tonight. She is going to have a bruise in the morning. She just _knows_ it.

"Wrap your legs around me," he commands. This time, she obeys. He releases her neck and wraps a single arm around her, his free hand squeezing her ass.

Thrust.

Thrust.

_Thrust_.

Her nails claw into his back. He growls, animalistic, as his thrusts become deeper, harder, faster. "_Fuck_."

Lines of blood roll down his pale back, staining his skin instantly. That is nothing, the arousal he feels from it is _nothing_ compared to when she brings her mouth to his neck and bites down_ hard_. His grip on her ass tightens as a pained moan escapes him.

He feels himself getting close.

_No, not yet_.

He intends to fuck her more than twice tonight. But, even for one of those, five minutes then done isn't an option for his ego.

In a second they are on the bed and she is flipped over onto her hands and knees.

It's okay.

He'll go slow.

Gather himself.

Then Bonnie reaches behind her with one hand and digs into his thigh. She looks back at him, mouth wide with pleasure as he thrusts into her.

He pulls out, releasing onto her ass cheeks.

_Fuck_.

_Fuck. Fuck!_

He growls as she smirks. "Well, that was quick," she says, knowing that he should be ashamed of such a thing.

"We're not done," he whispers, voice raspy as he thrusts into her again. She moans loudly at the sudden entrance, causing Damon to want her to make more noises like that. He is not a fan of screams but there is a strong part of him that craves hearing her shout his name, beg for him to keep going.

Bonnie is too proud to do such a thing, even though his efforts are definitely worthy a scream or two. All she feels is _pure ecstasy_ as blood runs down her thighs. There is no pain, nothing like that.

Everything is simply blissful.

* * *

**Author's Note:** My first mature fic. What do you readers think? :p It got a little steamy...just a little ahaha. There will definitely be some more Bamon next chapter...though, it'll mostly be mostly filled with them getting to know each other...and...Damon trying to _persuade_ Bonnie not to go to work. ;)

Btw...don't be confused. It is all simply lust...for now B)


	2. 2: Vampire's Kiss

**Songs:** Living On A Prayer - Bon Jovi (1st half), A Girl Like You - Edwyn Collins (2nd half)

* * *

Damon knew who she was though it took him a little longer than he would have liked to figure it out.

He remembers seeing Bonnie as a little girl with her father, Rudy. It was just a simple routine check up he would do every other decade or so - when he chose to, really. Protecting the Bennett bloodline required some effort, much to his annoyance; there were so _many_ of them. So, he gave himself some leeway by only checking up on the closest relatives of Emily's.

Abby Bennett was as closely related to Emily as she could possibly be. So, he had gone back to Mystic Falls with the intention of making sure that the witch wasn't in any trouble or if, in fact, trouble had already gotten to her and she was dead. He wouldn't have minded if she was in a grave because that meant that once Sheila died, too, he wouldn't have to step foot in Mystic Falls ever again.

But, of course, Abby had to pop out a kid before she left. And, even better, she didn't tell anyone where she went.

Now, he had two things to deal with: find out where the fuck she was and add Bonnie to the list of Bennett's he needed to protect. The latter, admittedly, pissed him off more than anything. _The Bennett's needed to stay virgins_, he thought at the time. It's ironic now that he thinks about it because he, himself, took a Bennett's virginity, the one thing he wanted them to keep.

He figured her identity out as soon as her cherry popped and he took all the crimson goodness into his mouth. And, fuck, there was nothing weirder than having a mouth-orgasm as he drank from her while simultaneously imagining Emily rolling over in her grave. It just wasn't something he did: imagine Emily Bennett when he was hard.

That witch had a way of deflating his sexual desires; though, he can't honestly say that he stopped fucking Bonnie because of that. If anything, he was only encouraged to be rougher, more sensual.

He hoped Emily was there as a ghost in that moment, seeing her little descendent losing her virginity to a vampire. He was spiteful, to say the least.

She made him a _babysitter_ for God's sake.

For one-hundred and forty-five years he looked after her bloodline - admittedly, checking up on them when he damn well pleased - but he did it nonetheless. It's not like she had specified how extensive the protecting needed to be. So, he had kept his promise.

But now he was going to have some fun and be rewarded for his hard work because, without him, Bonnie wouldn't even be alive right now. He had saved her grandmother from a vampire when she was just a toddler.

He had taken that vampire's life, gladly. The guy had been targeting witches for about 4 months before Damon finally caught up to him. The only reason he cared about killing the guy was because witches meant Bennett's. And, although he hated the amount of effort, he had to keep them safe.

Bonnie owed her life to him, really; so did Sheila and Abby both.

They _all_ owed their fucking lives to him.

It was time for him to be rewarded for such effort.

* * *

_"Whoa, we're halfway there! Woah, living on a prayer!"_

_Damon looked over at Bree, smiling at her sudden burst of energy at hearing the chorus to her favourite song. The girl always had a thing for Bon Jovi and eighties music in general. Maybe that's why he got along with her so well._

_She reminded him of the best period of his life: his blood filled glory days. Sure, he still drains and kills humans without remorse but it isn't the same._

_It was a great time in the eighties mostly because there was no Lexi, no Stefan, no Mystic Falls. There were no reminders of pain, no memories of Katherine or the brother that probably hated him now. He thought of nothing that bothered him and just lived, more than he had in a hundred years._

_Of course, sometime in the nineties Stefan came to try to help him because he was his brother, so he said. It ruined the whole decade for him, the way Stefan stuck to him like a leech. Then Damon killed Stefan's girlfriend, the girl his brother loved with all of his heart. Stefan left then; he had promised not to give up on Damon yet he left._

_Just more lies._

_He despised the nineties._

_But he didn't like thinking about that, it just brought back even more memories._

_With Bree, Damon got some of that happiness back: the lust and music of the eighties. She was a drug to him at the time, something he couldn't imagine wanting to get rid of. So, of course, he _had_ to get rid of her. He had to leave before he actually started feeling something for her._

_He would, without a doubt, have fallen in love with her if he had stayed any longer._

_So, that's what he does; he leaves the day after graduating from college. He spent one last night with her, fucking her harder than he ever had before. She even let him drink from her. And, fuck, if that didn't make everything better he didn't know what could._

_Maybe he didn't say goodbye because it was his way of confirming that she was just a fuck buddy, nothing more. He was just using her, of course. She would know that when she woke up in the morning._

_And he would be okay if she cried for him._

_She didn't mean anything to him._

_The steering wheel spins beneath his fingers as he drives along the highway. He forces himself to stop thinking about her altogether. She is just one of his many past lives, a memory that will soon be forgotten just like his many other lovers._

_Though, she _was_ different, not just a friend with benefit. __There was something special about her. She made him feel-_

_Damon grips the wheel harder, trying to flick the switch off in his head. The longer he has lived the harder it has become to remain emotionless. Slowly, every decade or so, he feels himself becoming more emotional, more _human_._

_He closes his eyes, growling in annoyance at not being able to control his train of thoughts._

Stop thinking about Bree.

Stop thinking about Katherine.

Stop thinking about Stefan.

_When he opens his eyes, they are all out of his mind but, again, so is he. Has he finally lost it?_

_Where _is_ he?_

_His car is gone._

_The road is gone._

_Is he in a forest?_

_He looks around, suddenly frowning._

It's a fucking dream.

_Forests can only mean one thing, a sort of calling card for a witch he once made a promise to. "Emily," he says, jaw clenching._

_"Leave Bonnie alone," she commands._

_Slowly, Damon turns around. He smiles, mockingly. "I was just having a little fun, Emily."_

_"You will destroy her mind by doing so. She cannot be introduced to such things...to a world of vampires and werewolves."_

_"Now, now, you're being dramatic. Besides, she's a witch. She was bound to run into one of us sometime." His smile becomes snarky, so much so that Emily wants to light him ablaze. "Plus, you were the one who told me to look after your bloodline, didn't you? That's what I'm doing."_

_"You do not know the state of her mind. She has delved into a magic you could not dream of. She is dark, Damon."_

_He smirks. "Sounds like my kind of girl."_

_She frowns. "You will upset the balance of nature."_

_His left eyebrow raises. "Do you think I actually care?"_

* * *

_Bonnie doesn't dream of Emily though, like Damon, she does dream of a past life, foreign and long gone._

_Yet, it is so close, a year within her reach. And maybe she wants to reach it, maybe she wants to hold it to her heart, let it burn into her skin again, making her erupt like a volcano. Such an eruption would break her as it broke her then._

_And she would no longer be._

_She would exist as someone, _something_ far from what she is._

_But what is she?_

_In this moment she barely knows._

_All she can feel is his hand, light, bloody against her skin as her back presses against him. And she feels something within her, that darkness that she embraces with everything she has. It is far from her knowledge that this love is not mutual. No, this is more of a consumption - the devouring of her body, mind, heart, _soul_._

_But she feels a pull._

_It _must_ be mutual._

_She clutches this man, holding his hands to her chest as his chin rests on top of her head._

_She breathes._

_He breathes._

_They are synchronized both in movement and in mind. They want one thing, the same thing: power._

_"I'll give you the world," he whispers._

_"We'll burn it to the ground."_

_He smiles, burying his mouth in her dark, curly strands._

_"I love you," she whispers, bringing one of his hands to her lips._

_Her words are not unfamiliar to this man, neither are the words he responds with. "I hate you, too."_

_She laughs._

_They laugh together, synchronized as they would always be._

_Forever._

* * *

Damon's eyes are wild beneath his closed eyelids when Bonnie wakes up. She lays on her side for a moment, feet tangled in her green blanket and a pale arm resting around her waist. _Sleeping alone is so much better_, she realizes, growling at the pain from Damon's body pressing against her bruised back.

She elbows him in the stomach. "Move _over_."

He doesn't budge an inch.

Groaning, she pulls his arm off of her and gets off the twin-sized bed. With heavy legs she walks towards her bathroom, fingering the purple on her back as she does so. _Fuck_.

The thing that pisses her off the most is that she can't scream at him for doing this to her. She was a sadist last night as much as he was, a masochist even more so. She loved him slamming her against every surface he could, thrusting into her in ways that she couldn't have even dreamed of.

She had heard the phrase 'hurts so good' before but didn't understand it until Damon came into her life and took control of her.

She would be lying if she said that she disliked being dominated.

She loved it.

However, apparently the pain from after the fact stings like a bitch. _That_ is something she doesn't like. She turns around, studying her back in the bathroom mirror. "_Jesus Christ_," she says, meaning for that to have been just a thought.

But there is no possible way to stay quiet when you see a bruise the size of a fucking _continent_. Yes, she is being dramatic but that's because it is just _that_ big, so big that if anyone saw it they would question how a bruise of that size could even be possible if she hadn't gotten run over by a truck.

How would she explain such a thing?

Right, she couldn't.

Then again, nobody sees her shirtless, something that she must thank whatever higher power for now. Being a prude pays off.

You have friends - maybe - who know that revealing more than the skin of your arms and legs is blasphemy in your eyes and what you don't have, for sure, is a boyfriend who will obviously want to see you naked.

She sighs in relief, remembering that she won't actually have to explain this to anyone; though, that doesn't make her feel any better about having to deal with wanting to scream bloody murder whenever something touches her back.

And, fuck, she just wants to scream at Damon until his ears bleed, make him feel at least half of the pain she feels right now.

But she _can't_.

Fuck it.

She will.

She goes out into her living-room-bedroom with every intention of knocking this son of a bitch out. She won't use Expression even though doing so would please her beyond words. In the end, it would _bother_ her beyond words.

So, she just smacks his head. "Wake up," she demands, voice somehow calm and controlled.

Again, he is unresponsive to her assault.

She can't help but wonder if he is dead.

It's a scary thought.

She pokes his cheek repeatedly. "Wake up," she repeats over and over.

After about ten seconds she gets nervous. "Damon?"

Suddenly, his eyes open and Bonnie takes a step back. His eyes are blank as he stares forward, focussed on the wall.

_What the fuck?_

"Damon...are you okay?"

His ice-blue orbs focus on her. She forces her legs to stay still this time - those sudden eye movements are starting to creep her out. She swallows as his eyes remain glued to her, no words coming out of his mouth. A scary, semi-correct thought passes through her mind then: _I'm with a psychopath_. _He is going to cut me up and dump the pieces in a pot of chicken broth._

_Or a broth of my blood._

Her mind begins to spin, wild imaginings coming to fruition as she connects puzzle pieces together. First, he is a sadist. _Good job on that one, by the way, Bonnie_. _Never trust a sadist,_ she thinks, already beginning to scold herself. Secondly, he is probably a serial rapist. _Also, good job there_. She guesses that one by the way he doesn't accept no for an answer and, more so, because he looks at her like he wants to slit her throat while simultaneously fucking her lifeless corpse. Plus, he was _good_, at least as far as she knows from the non-existent experience she has had before him. He has probably forced tons of women before her. Unless, of course, they were stupid like Bonnie and just jumped right in bed with him.

_Yup, psychopathic-serial-rapist_. _Good job, Bonnie. You're going to die_.

Fuck it. If she has to she will use Expression because there is no way that she is letting this man go Richard Ramirez on her, _no fucking way_.

Then he speaks, eyes becoming warm. "Mornin'."

She sighs in relief, though still not fully recovered from her wild thoughts. "Morning," she whispers, glad to not have to deal with an eerie silence anymore.

Damon reaches for her hand and pulls him toward her while sitting himself up. He brings her down to his level and leans in, placing a gentle kiss against her dry lips. Her eyes are narrow as he pulls away. Most girls would be melted into a puddle by what he just did. Chicks love the cutesy stuff: the forehead kisses, the Eskimo kisses, the hand holding; though, he can't say that he is disappointed by the fact that 'cutesy' doesn't get to her. He isn't exactly the lovey-dovey type.

He smiles, left side curving up slightly more than the other at the unknowing seduction by this siren. It probably wasn't her intention to do this to him but it happened regardless and, now, he only wants her more. "Bored of me already?" he asks, amused.

"Wondering if you're going to murder me," she says, honestly.

He looks into her green eyes, smiling, amused. "I promise I won't kill you." Though, he can't guarantee that for any day other than today. No, today he wants to fuck her again, make her bruise bigger, darker. And she needs to be alive for that to happen because, as he told her last night, necrophilia isn't his thing.

She steps away from him, straightening her spine as she pulls her hand out of his and folds her arms across her bare chest. "Says every murderer who has ever lived."

"I prefer my victims knowing that they're going to die...and that there's nothing they can do about it."

She frowns.

Again, he laughs.

She takes his laughter as a sign that he is joking, though he isn't. He thoroughly enjoys the fear that flashes through a person's eyes when they realize that there is no hope for survival.

It's almost orgasmic.

Bonnie remembers why she came out here in the first place: to bitch this man out for putting a whole continent of pain on her back. How could she forget about that? Her frown deepens. She wants to yell but she figures that showing him the bruise while doing so may prove her point more. She turns her back to him, watching him as his eyes focus on her deep-purple bruise.

He looks up at her. "Was that me?" Slowly, he nods, impressed with his work. "My bad."

"You think this is funny?" she says, voice loud and lacking flavour as she turns to face him. "I have to go to work like this! If someone touches me I'm going to pass out," she says, dramatically. "Do you know how many people try to touch me there?"

"They're probably aiming a little lower, I'm guessing."

She sighs, not at all pleased with his attempt at humour. He, however, is very amused by it and even more so by her reaction; that much is obvious by the smirk on his face.

She would like to slap that smug look to the carpet. But then she has to take a deep breath in because she knows that letting anger take control of her isn't a good thing. No, she let that happen once.

She can't let it happen again; she_ won't_.

She inhales loudly. "Can you just go? I have to get ready for work."

"Liar. It's only-"

"Four o'clock," she finishes.

He frowns, doing the mental math in his head: they left at about one in the morning, fucked for who knows how long and then slept for the remaining time. He nods, accepting her statement; though, he doesn't agree that she should go or, rather, he won't _allow_ her to. "You're not leaving," he says, as if expecting no argument.

_He must be kidding_. Yes, she will allow him to dominate in sexual situations but when it comes to her life in general there is no way she will allow someone to tell her what to do. So, to state her opinion she simply replies, "No."

He stands, resting his hands on her hips as he smiles. "Now, why would you want to leave?" he questions, thumb pressing into the soft spot on her side. He leans into her neck, placing tempting kisses across her skin.

"I have to," she mumbles, putting her hand against his chest. She pushes him gently, trying to get him away. He, however, remains as still as a rock, immovable like a mountain.

His tongue quickly flicks at the nape of her neck. "I could make the pain go away," he whispers, voice raspy. "The only thing you would feel..." His lips press against her ear, free hand running up the side of her thigh. "Is me fucking you until you can't think of anything but..." He looks into her eyes, lips just an inch away from hers. "Me," he finishes, slamming his lips onto hers.

She presses into his chest with more force, trying to get this tempting creature away from her.

She has to go to work.

She needs to pay her bills.

_And, fuck, he's so good at kissing_.

She pushes him back, him only complying because she is finally returning the kiss. She lays him down on the bed and crawls on top of him, his hardness pressing against her stomach as she leaves a trail of kisses from his neck up to his chin.

He squeezes her ass, gently pushing her to where he wants before he pulls down, trying to insert without using his hands. His attempt fails until Bonnie reaches down and guides it in. She is slow at first as she begins to bounce up and down, her breasts bouncing just as much.

She leans down, pressing her lips against his as an animalistic growl escapes her mouth.

He would be a damn liar if he claimed that wasn't the hottest noise he has ever heard from her mouth. A part of him finds it a little shocking that she keeps making him want her more and more, almost to the point that he wants to flip her over and fuck the temptress out of her.

And he would have if she hadn't grabbed his wrists, forcing him to stop guiding her ass up and down. She pins his arms to the bed, hips moving in a figure eight. No, she may not be experienced but that didn't stop her friends from telling her in great detail what made their boyfriends cum the fastest, what made them moan the loudest.

At seeing the sudden breath he takes in, Bonnie knows that her friend, Claire's, advice was correct. She lowers her lips to his chest again, this time nibbling at his skin. Then, slowly, she moves up to his neck. As soon as she makes contact he curses.

"_Fuck_," he says through a growl, taking his wrists out of her grasp and wrapping his arms around her body, pulling her closer to him. She smiles into his neck, biting down harder.

He returns the favour, allowing her magic-laced blood to fill his mouth. She gasps at first, eyes wide until a wave of euphoria washes over her. Her hips move slower as she begins to tremble from the ecstasy filling her veins.

He decides to help her out, moving his hands to her sides and beginning to guide her again.

Still, her body trembles as he continues to drink from her. Soon, the euphoria becomes too much, so much that she takes it out on his skin, penetrating it and making him bleed.

He growls, moving his stained lips to hers. Their blood mixes as their tongues find one another. He moves her body faster, making it harder for their lips to maintain contact. She presses both hands against his chest, taking control again as she slides herself in and out of him. His hands remain on her hips, though no longer guiding them.

He is the first to orgasm.

She goes just five seconds later, whole body freezing as her moans become just the sound of her breathing. Slowly, she brings herself down to his chest, laying her head just below his chin. He wraps a single arm around her, dick still filling her throbbing walls.

"Get you're hand off me," she mumbles. "It hurts."

He looks down at her, eyes meeting the top of her head. He moves his hand to her dark strands, beginning to caress them as a smile warms his face. "I can take the pain away," he says.

"I know," she says, annoyed. "You already told me that. But we can't have sex all day."

"Now, there's a thought. Best thing you've said since we met."

She scoffs, sitting up. She looks down at him then, realizing that she likes him much better when his mouth is shut and he is just fucking her.

He copies her earlier action, sitting up to join her at eye level. He wraps one arm around her waist, bringing his free wrist to his mouth and biting in. Bonnie watches him through narrow eyes, remembering her earlier thought about him being a masochist.

Then he sticks the wrist in front of her mouth, as if implying that she should lick the wound. She frowns in disapproval. "What are you doing?"

"Drink," he commands, pressing his wrist against her lips.

She tries to push him away but, again, is confronted with his mountain-like immovability.

"Drink," he repeats. "So I can throw you around more and not break you." He smirks after saying the last word, amused with himself.

Slowly, cautiously, she opens her mouth. His blood begins to trickle in.

"Suck."

She obeys. More of his blood enters, faster, more plentiful. Her face turns sour at the taste of iron. She pushes his wrist away after about four seconds, disgusted with the taste.

But, as he said, the pain is going away.

She frowns, confused.

He silences whatever question is about to leave her mouth by pressing his lips against hers. Instinctively, her hands go to his sides and she begins to squeeze, wanting him to take her again, make her cum again.

He does; on her bed, on her counter, in her shower.

She can't get enough of him.

And he just can't get enough of her.

* * *

She is boiling soup and making a sandwich while Damon sits at her table, only boxers on.

"Campbell's and a bologna sandwich," he says, head propped up by his hands as he watches Bonnie, intrigued by the sway of her hips as she stirs the soup every so often. "Do you even know how to cook?"

Her face remains calm, unfazed by his insult. "You said you weren't hungry. You're not eating it." She turns around, ladle in hand. "That means you can't complain about what I make."

He scoffs. "I can when _le chef est paresseux_."

She frowns. "I'm not lazy," she mumbles, facing the stove and twisting the knob so the burner is off.

Damon smiles, impressed by her French though it_ is_ a basic sentence. Little does he know, maybe she sucks when it comes to the advanced stuff. "You know French?" he questions, truly interested.

"My dad is fluent," she answers, reaching for a plastic, blue bowl. She pours the tomato soup into it and grabs her sandwich, joining him at the table.

"One would wonder why you have two chairs if you're such an obvious loner."

"Well, one obviously didn't hear me mentioning my dad...He likes to visit." She sticks the sandwich in her mouth, chewing like a man as she puts it on the glass table.

He eyes her for a moment, wondering if impressing him even matters to her. By the way she chews with her mouth open he can tell that she couldn't give two shits. "Close your mouth," he says, disgusted by the sight of mushy bread and bologna pieces moving throughout her mouth.

She frowns, displeased though she does comply. Normally, she doesn't eat like this but she is just _so_ hungry. Closing her mouth would have taken too much effort, she thought. But she, too, hates seeing people's mouths open when they're eating so she can understand where he is coming from. That's the only reason she obeys. If it wasn't for that his tone would have pissed her off and she would have opened her mouth wider, sticking her tongue out at him so he could admire what became of her sandwich.

She slides a spoonful of red liquid into her mouth before asking him a question of her own. "How do _you_ know French?"

The way he is angled allows for the kitchen light to brighten his eyes, giving him the appearance of being completely intrigued by the girl before him. And, really, he is.

He lowers his hands to the table, leaning back in the black chair. "After living a hundred and forty-five years you pick up a few languages along the way."

"Oh? A hundred and forty-five?" she asks. "Well, that's interesting and all but..." She places the back of the silver spoon to her lips and then points it at him, lazily. "I just can't imagine such an old man having such a tight ass." She shakes her head. "Doesn't make sense."

He smirks. "Tight ass?"

She nods.

He leans forward. "And that's the only reason you don't believe me?"

"Basically. Your face could pass for that age but not your ass." She sticks the sandwich back into her mouth, this time keeping her lips pressed together when she chews.

Somehow, his eyes seem to shine even brighter as intrigue turns into pure amusement. He licks his lips.

"So," she continues. "If you really are so ancient...why spend your time going to bars and trying to pick up girls? I mean..." She fills her mouth with more tomato soup before finishing. "Metaphorically speaking...if I could live so long I'd probably try to help people...like find a cure for cancer or something."

"Why should I help my meal?"

A single eyebrow raises on her face.

"It's like you saving a pig from a slaughterhouse and then bringing it home and cutting it up and putting it in your sandwich...It's pointless."

"And a human is your pig is what you're saying?"

He nods once. "Only much more delicious."

"The more I talk to you, the less I like you," she says, honestly.

His head tilts to the side. "Why is that?"

She shrugs. "Well, let's just say that being great at sex is your only admirable quality. But it's not very impressive considering you've apparently had 'a hundred and forty-five years' to practice."

"Careful, honey. You shouldn't insult a vampire."

She scoffs. "A vampire...right. I like to think of you more as a...psychopathic-serial-rapist."

"I didn't know you had a thing for rapists. Very insightful."

Forgetting about his request to keep her lips closed, she speaks with an open, wide, food filled mouth. "I'm not proud of it," she admits. "But I'll kill you before you leave...just so I can right my wrongs."

He forces himself not to focus on the grossness that is in her mouth. "Is that what you think?"

"Yeah. I'll cut you with my spatula...It will be a bloody mess." She smiles. "If you think about it I'm giving you the best kind of death a vampire could get...Let's look at it as a tribute to your love of blood."

He returns the smile, finally catching on to her sarcasm. "Thanks for the thoughtfulness."

She nods. "Oh, anytime."

He pauses. "But, really, I _am_ a vampire."

She spits red on the table. It almost hits Damon but he is fast enough to move away before it can. He stands by her balcony window, looking at her as if she is crazy as she covers her mouth with her hand, trying to stop herself from laughing.

"Sorry," she says through giggles. "I...you just..." Her eyes begin to water as she continues to laugh, hand gripping her stomach. "You...reminded me of Nicholas Cage."

He frowns.

"His character in...Vampire's Kiss says..." She takes a deep breath in, trying to compose herself. "He says 'I'm a vampire!' all the time."

"Vampire's...Kiss," he says, uninterested.

Her eyes widen. "You haven't seen it?"

"No, I don't-"

"Well, if I'm not going to work then you're watching it today."

"But I don't like vampire movies. They're so..._disgraceful_."

"Shhhh." She walks over to the stand beside the TV that rests against the wall separating her bathroom and living-room-bedroom. It's almost directly across from her bed, making watching TV pretty easy for her. Quickly, she takes a movie case into her hand and pops it open, taking the disc out and placing it into the dvd player. After waiting a couple of seconds she presses play.

Damon groans. "I don't want-"

"Shhhhhhhh." She grabs her sandwich and bowl of soup and sits down on her bed, back pressed against the headboard.

Slowly, Damon walks over and plops down on the mattress, feeling very defeated. He could silence her as he did a couple of hours ago by kissing her. But the thought is disturbing knowing that bread and bologna awaits him. So, he sits at the edge of the bed, staring at the TV screen, truly annoyed with having no say in the matter.

"It's so bad it's good," she tells him as the camera zooms in on buildings.

He sighs. "I'm sure it's-"

"Shhhh."

He is truly tempted to leave.

Who is this bitch to tell him what to do?

_"No, that's not true, really. I knew I was going to delay waking her up for as long as possible."_

_"Well, what did you really want?"_

_"I wanted her, same as always...I wanted her to disappear. I wanted her to be the hell out of there...that she got the hell out of there."_

His eyes narrow at the screen.

_"She took the hint. You woke up; you were fully dressed; you had to go to work..."_

_"More or less, yeah."_

_"And, yet, just the night before...you wanted her very badly."_

_"Yeah...I know...really badly."_

Very similar to the way he feels about Bonnie right now. Groaning, he decides that he will make himself comfortable because it's not like the movie started out too bad.

Really, it couldn't be _that_ bad.

He moves himself beside her, laying his arm around her shoulders as his free hand rests behind his head. When she is finished with her food, she puts her empty bowl on the side table and leans into his side, fingers intertwining with his. He glances down at her, momentarily wondering if she actually _does_ like the cutesy stuff.

Wouldn't that be annoying.

He sees an impending sex scene and mumbles, "That's what we should be doing now, not watching-"

"Shhhhhh." She removes her hand from his and lays it on his bare chest, nuzzling her head closer to his side.

He frowns. "There's a bat on the screen...It better not be a vampire bat or I swear-"

"_Shut up_." She slaps his chest, eyes still glued to the screen.

He stays quiet until he sees the bite scene. "Well, that's realistic, at least...if you don't remember...when I bit you, you made orgasm-face, too."

She doesn't even bother telling him to shut up again. She only moves herself away from him, laying herself down on her stomach and moving closer to the edge of the bed.

His frown deepens. "Is that supposed to be a punishment?"

She continues to ignore him.

He folds his arms across his chest, even more displeased than he was before.

He doesn't even know why he is still here.

He should just leave.

Yet, almost half an hour passes and he is still there, arms folded but eyes glued to the screen. The movie is both stupid and interesting at the same time. The scene he is watching at the moment in particular has brought an amused slash disturbed smile to his face. Perhaps he just enjoys the strangeness that is Nicholas Cage.

_"Well...I was also thinking today that maybe you could put somebody else on the job for a while...or another secretary to help me out...I mean to, you know, make the job easier."_

_"Alva...there is no one else in this entire office that I could possibly ask to share such a horrible job. You're the lowest on the totem pole here, Alva, the lowest. Do you realize that? Every other secretary who's been here has been here longer than you, Alva...every one. And even if there was someone here who was here just one day longer than you I still wouldn't ask that person to partake in such a miserable job as long as _you_ were around."_

Damon's eyes narrow at the growing creep-look in the actor's face. He hears Bonnie trying to keep her laughter to a minimum, attempting to contain her amusement at watching this completely fucked up scene.

_"That's right, Alva. It's a horrible, horrible job...sifting through old contract after contract. I couldn't think of a more horrible job if I wanted to and you_ have_ to do it...you have to or I'll fire you. Do you understand? Do you?"_

_"Yes..."_

Damon glances at Bonnie as her hand moves to release the laughter she has been holding back.

He can't help but smile.

A couple minutes later he sees Creepy Fuck go to Alva's door and apologize. "Is she stupid?" he mumbles at seeing her accept his apology.

He hears Bonnie chuckle. "She's just being nice."

And then Creepy Fuck starts losing his shit on her again and Damon thinks that she deserves it for being so stupid. Bonnie disagrees.

"He is obviously out of his mind."

"Don't you understand her character? She is innocent, hopeful-"

"She's _stupid_."

"Oh, shhh."

"Me shh? He's chasing her. Look, he's fucking psycho."

He points to the TV as Creepy Fuck says, _"Too late. Too late. Too late. It's too late, Alva. It's all too late! Come here, Alva! Come here!"_

_"Ahhhh! Stay away!"_

Bonnie glances back at him, smiling at the angry look in his eyes. "It's just a movie," she says.

He frowns. "Well, sorry I have good taste. I don't appreciate low-quality things...unlike some people."

She laughs, looking back at the screen.

A couple minutes later Damon is shaking his head. "See, right there, she's goanna get raped."

"No, she's not."

"It's right on the screen, Bonnie!"

"Oh, shut up."

Then a couple minutes later they are arguing about it again.

"Well, why would her brother go kill him then? Just because he took her shirt off, Mrs. I'm-so-convinced-he-didn't-rape-her?"

"He was going to rape her, that's the point. Just because her brother's mad - and he should be - that doesn't mean she was actually raped."

"But she was!"

"Ugh. You're so stupid."

"Excuse me?"

"I said you're stupid!"

A pink pillow smacks against his head, rebounds and falls back onto the bed.

Damon's eyes widen. "What, are you a child?" He pulls the blanket off of her and throws it to the floor all in one swift motion.

She glares at him. "Says the hundred and forty-five year old _pedophile_."

He jumps on top of her, flipping her so that she is on her back. He pins one of her arms down when she tries to smack him. "Are you kidding? You won't be able to hit-"

She smacks him in the face with her other hand.

He growls, pinning that arm down, too.

She smirks. "I thought you said I wouldn't be able to hit you."

Fuck, he hates her so much.

"You piss me off, you know."

"I know."

His frown slowly turns into a smile, her grin infecting him like a disease.

* * *

**Author's Note**: My, my. I'm very pleased with all the reviews, I must say. There were so many! It warms my heart :D...inspires me to put out the best work possible so I can please you readers.

I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing :)

Andddd just a little side note. Don't be confused...Damon doesn't consider Bonnie more than a simple jester, so to say. She is just his amusement, sexy-toy and...

Oh! That movie I was talking about in this chapter...you can watch it on YouTube. Just type in Vampire's Kiss and it should be the first one there - it is the only one that is one hour and forty-three minutes long. I highly, highly, highly recommend watching it...just for the Creepy Fuck and Alva parts...or you could just type in: Vampire's Kiss best moments. They're hilarious, trust me. Especially the office scene when he is telling Alva about how she is the lowest on the totem pole. You really just have to see his face to understand the magnitude of funny...I can't even describe it LOL

Just a warning...school is coming up so my updates may start being every two weeks as opposed to one.


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